


Candle Light

by TheTerrorDome



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, RIP chair, and being annoying, sammy sacrificing things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 07:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20862740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTerrorDome/pseuds/TheTerrorDome
Summary: Sammy feels that his recent sacrifices to his Lord have been lacking.





	Candle Light

**Author's Note:**

> Second prompt for Bendy Inktober

The walls of the ritual room always felt closer when Sammy was setting up his alter. The ink almost flexed outwards, setting a shift in the air as he melted the wax candles to the desk. Sammy stayed vigilant waiting to hear his Lord in the walls, in the pipes, but he knew it was naive to expect Him to come without any incentive. 

Though Sammy worried that his offerings were beginning to feel… predictable. He glanced over his shoulder at the sheep melting into his good chair, the only one with all four legs the same length. Pickings were slim as of late. The damned Angel kept killing all the good Borises. Her petty interests in looks and beauty paled in comparison to Sammy’s righteous sacrifices and devotions. Lighting the candles carefully, eyeing some ink dripping from the ceiling, Sammy hummed. 

Eventually he will have to raise the stakes. He will need to find something more appealing than random, weak searchers. His Lord is worth more than mere ants in the farm, sheep in the stables. Sammy frowned. The candles flickered and he glanced at his sheep again. It bubbled like stew feeling safe in the hard wooden chair. Sammy felt a smile creep along his face. What a pitiful sheep. Not even knowing what’s coming to it. It was almost laughable how ignorant it was to it’s situation. Most searchers knew better than to venture down the Music Department hall

Thrumming from the ink machine brought Sammy back. It was time. He cracked his knuckles, turning a candle slightly to the right. Everything had to be perfect for his Lord.   
The searcher continued to bubble peacefully in the chair as Sammy made his way to his room. The door slammed shut behind him. Sammy hunched over the intercom. Licking his lips, he began his chant:

Sheep, sheep, sheep.  
It’s time for sleep.  
Rest your head. It’s time for bed.  
In the morning you may wake.  
Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.

The vibrations from the microphone stirred the searcher from its rest. Massing itself together on the chair it sprung to life like a jack in the box, turning it’s crooked neck curiously. 

Sammy’s hands were clammy. The walls were trembling, ink pouring from the walls of the ritual room and coating the floors. He could hear Him. His Lord. Sammy calls out his Lord’s name. 

Hear me Bendy! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering, my Lord! I summon you, claim this tender sheep! Please, free me!

Sammy could hear Him. Crawling in the pipes. He clasped his hands together, sucking in a sharp breath. 

Something crashed through the ritual room on the other side of the wall. Sammy kept his hands clenched together. “My Lord,” he whispered, “my Lord.” 

Ink Bendy burst through the pipes into the ritual room, crashing in front of the searcher. It let out a low groan throwing itself back in the chair, toppling over it tried to drag itself away. Bendy stepped on the chair, breaking it apart bits of wood shooting across the room. The searcher moaned with fear. Bendy grabbed its head smashing it to the floor, it clawed at the wood boards. Scraping the searcher across the floor Bendy threw it up in the air, cutting across its chest with His pointed claws. The searcher let out a screech, dissolving to the floor in a puddle of formless ink. 

Sammy waited safely in the other room. He prayed to his lord fervently bowed on the floor with his hands together over his head. He could hear the searcher’s screams and the final crash of Bendy disappearing back to the walls. Lifting his head up ever so slightly, he waited. Silence.

Slowly, Sammy stood up listening for any danger beyond the safety of his room. He opened the door peering out into the ritual room. The chair was in pieces and he frowned. Figures his one good chair would be wasted on some useless searcher, but his Lord worked in mysterious ways. He would reward Sammy for his loyalties in something much more valuable than a silly chair. In the middle of the room was the body-or rather, the ink. Sammy tilted his head thoughtfully. It wouldn’t be gone forever, it was returned to the ink, nothing was truly forever in this place. Eventually it might even come back. Maybe as a searcher. Sammy shrugged. At least it didn’t die in vain. It served a purpose for the greater good. It replenished their benevolent Lord! 

Sammy pried a candle off the floor. A prophet’s work is never done. He had sheep to herd and he wasn’t going to let the angel ruin all of the progress he had been making with the ink demon. If she knew better she’d be beside him, helping appease Bendy, He could make her the most beautiful creature alive. She didn’t understand, she was blinded by false abstractions and obtaining the unobtainable. And a prophet can only preach so much before he cuts his losses and moves on. 

With the candle dimly lighting his way, Sammy stalked out of the ritual room. He had been neglecting the altar in his office. A good prophet makes tributes in more than one way. A good prophet is diligent. Bendy will reward him for his sacrifice. Bendy will set him free.


End file.
